


I Just Want To Put My Face On Your Face

by beautifullights, cognomen, imaginary_golux, MayGlenn, starbirdrampant (ineasako22), telekinetic_hedgehog, TuppingLiberty



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Aliens, Crack, Creepy Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Mistaken Identity, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 05:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12183372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifullights/pseuds/beautifullights, https://archiveofourown.org/users/cognomen/pseuds/cognomen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayGlenn/pseuds/MayGlenn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineasako22/pseuds/starbirdrampant, https://archiveofourown.org/users/telekinetic_hedgehog/pseuds/telekinetic_hedgehog, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuppingLiberty/pseuds/TuppingLiberty
Summary: Poe has been captured and a shape-shifting alien has taken his place. Everyone thinks it’s Poe, except for Finn, who knows it isn’t.





	I Just Want To Put My Face On Your Face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QianLan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QianLan/gifts).



> This fic was written by the Command Staff of the Star Wars Writing Alliance as a prize for QianLan's winning [Comment Bingo](https://starwarswritingalliance.tumblr.com/post/164431130947/comment-bingo) card! Congrats to QianLan, and thanks to all who participated in the Comment Bingo Challenge!

Finn is waiting on the tarmac when Poe gets back from his mission, reading over intelligence reports to pass the time. It always makes him jittery when Poe goes out on a mission without BB-8, but the little droid is in the shop for his annual maintenance checkup and upgrades, and won’t be available for another—Finn checks the time quickly—twenty-eight hours. And this mission was supposed to be something of a milk run, in any case, not something that would require the little droid’s presence.

Poe lands _Black One_ with...slightly less than his usual flair. Finn frowns. Did Poe manage to get himself injured on a _milk run_? Again? But when Poe swings down from the cockpit he looks fine. Maybe he’s just tired?

“Hey, buddy!” Poe calls, tugging his helmet off and grinning. Finn opens his arms for their normal welcome-home hug, and something about the tiny hesitation before Poe embraces him sets off little alarm bells in the back of his mind. But then Poe is greeting Jess and Snap and Nien, cheerful as ever, and Finn tells himself firmly that he’s imagining things.

“Lemme go take a shower real quick and I’ll meet you at the mess hall,” Poe says. “Ugh, slurry pouches, I want something solid to get the taste out of my mouth.”

Slurry pouches? The _First Order_ uses slurry pouches; the Resistance uses some sort of sweet gel which claims to taste like chocolate.

It doesn’t, of course, but the valiant efforts of the surplus pouches are pilot legend, each attempting to interpret the various flavors that are supposed to be chocolate. Superstition has it that different years and vintages of edible flight ration #5 taste completely different. It’s still not slurry. Feeling slightly dizzy, Finn follows the crowd of pilots into the mess hall, hoping that Poe is okay.

Maybe he hit his head while he was flying? _Isn’t that what the helmet’s supposed to be for?_ Finn barely looks at the food that they put on his tray, but he’s glad when he sees that Poe’s favorite is there. If anything will restore Poe to good spirits quickly it’s tamales. Finn heaps a little extra dessert onto his plate, trying to keep from worrying too much.

 _It’s fine, he was just gone too long._ It leaves Finn a little anxious every time. When Poe comes in, looking as radiant as he usually does when he’s done something successful, Finn waves him over.

“Hey, buddy, how was your day-and-a-little-extra while I was gone?” Poe sets his tray down next to Finn, joining him at one of the central tables like he always does.

There isn’t a single tamale on it. Finn chokes on his drink, and spends a few minutes coughing. Poe helpfully claps him on the back.

“Aren’t you going to have some,” Finn wheezes, as he attempts to breathe oxygen again rather than fortified milk, “of your favourite?”

Poe looks down at his tray, as if surprised. Then back up at Finn, and for a moment, Finn sees something like confusion—but not the normal sort of ‘half a beat behind because he hasn’t had enough caf yet’ confusion Poe Dameron usually displays. This is some other brand, and Finn doesn’t like it at all.

“Guess I didn’t feel like it today,” Poe says, shrugging it off with a light smile. “Didn’t want to mess it up with all that fake-chocolate-more-like-bananas taste.”

“...Makes sense,” Finn says dubiously. It’s never stopped Poe _before_ , but maybe he’s just gotten sensible about not mixing flavors?

“So!” Poe says cheerfully. “What’ve you all been up to while I was gone?”

Finn listens to Snap and Jess chatter cheerfully about the last few days, and wonders what the _kriff_ is going on. No one else seems to see anything wrong with how Poe is behaving. Maybe Finn is just jumping at shadows?

/// \\\\\ /// \\\\\

By the time Finn's Intel meeting wraps up late that night, Poe's already fast asleep in the room they share. It's odd that he'd have gone to bed instead of staying up chatting with his friends in Black Squadron, but Finn guesses the milk run of a mission must have been more tiring than usual. Poe _has_ been pretty busy lately.

Poe rolls over in bed and…curls up on his side? Instead of sprawling out with his limbs everywhere and one leg hanging off the side of the bed? Finn frowns. This isn't normal at all. Maybe Poe did hit his head. He always insists he doesn’t need to go to the medbay, but Finn might have to talk him into getting checked out.

The next morning, when the alarm that’s filling in for BB’s cheerful chirps goes off, Finn sits up in bed and snoozes it while Poe rolls over and squishes his pillow over his ears. Good to see Poe acting normal again, Finn thinks, smiling to himself as he heads into the ‘fresher. He hopes yesterday was just a fluke. The Resistance doesn’t need Poe acting weird and Finn getting distracted worrying about him. Finn’s mind is on the strategy for their next mission as he gets ready for his day.

Poe gives Finn a sleepy smile and a groggy “g’morning” as he heads into the ‘fresher. Finn hears the water turn on, the shower curtain rustle, and then… silence.

“You feeling okay, buddy?” Finn calls.

“Uh, yeah. Great. Thanks for asking,” Poe answers, flustered, before bursting into his favorite song. It’s a tune from a few decades ago called “No one stops this,” and after several months of living together and hearing Poe sing in the shower every morning, Finn has never once heard Poe sing it on key. Until today. Normally it’s endearing, but today it just sounds wrong.

Finn doesn’t know what’s going on here, but he knows it’s something fishy. Something is wrong, and Finn’s not going to keep it to himself. He laces up his boots and heads for the Command Center. The general will know what to do.

/// \\\\\ /// \\\\\

_Earlier..._

By the time Poe’s caught in the tractor beam, it’s too late to take evasive action—or do much of anything else. His comms have been cut, and oh yeah, no one knows where the kriff he is. That’s the nature of secret missions, he supposes, as his palms sweat.

He’s preparing to eject when a cool, melodic voice fills his cockpit. “Please don’t do that, Commander Dameron. That would be an unnecessary loss of life.”

Poe pauses, then does the last thing he can think of—prep his blaster to defend against boarding hostiles. Maybe he’s being pulled into an unknown ship’s hangar, but he’s not going to go down without a fight.

At least, that’s what he thinks, up until the cockpit opens, and he peeks over the edge, and he’s met with… _himself._

There are three Poe Damerons standing on the hangar floor below, looking expectantly up at him. But that’s not the most kriffed up part—there’s another set of… _him…_ him _s_ running toward his X-wing in pit crew uniforms.  What the _actual kriff_.

“Commander Dameron,” the middle Poe, the one wearing some flowy silver getup, calls up to him. Poe’s—the real Poe’s—brow furrows. Silver Poe _sounds_ like him, except not quite? Like he can see how someone might— _maybe—_ think this being has Poe’s voice, but Poe can tell xe’s the one that talked to him in his X-wing earlier.  “Perhaps this would be better?”

The middle being, Silver Poe, blurs a little, like Poe can’t really make out xir features for a few moments, his brain can’t comprehend it, and then he’s shocked to the core to see General Organa standing between two Poes, instead.

“What—what the _hell_ is going on?”

“This might be more comfortable if you come down?”

It’s Leia’s compelling voice, impossible to resist.

“I’m bringing my blaster with me.”

Leia shrugs. The Poes beside xir are armed to the teeth. Xe’s safe, the motion says.

When he’s finally in front of xem, Poe can’t help but stand close and peer at xir face, trying to find any clue that the being before him is _not_ Leia Organa. Nothing. Same for himself. His imposters—clones?—even have the forehead scar he got from his time on the _Finalizer_.

“We are the Avari.” Leia motions Poe to walk, and he falls into step easily beside xir, the bodyguard Poes directly behind them.

“I’ve never heard of you.”

Leia smirks, and it’s just so exactly Leia’s smirk that Poe feels a pang. “That’s intentional. Those who have heard of us—let’s just say, we’re not exactly considered trustworthy.” Xe spreads xir hands, indicating the army of Poes around them, all carrying out the business of the hangar. “It’s easy to accuse us of sneakery, you see.”

“I mean, from where I stand, I get it.”  

Xe shrugs delicately. “We’ve been monitoring the Resistance.” Poe arches a brow. “We keep to ourselves, normally, but every once and awhile the universe doesn’t want to let us.”

“Well, considering we’re fighting to stop mass genocide, pardon if I don’t get overly emotional about you being disturbed,” Poe bites out, letting his anger get the better of his chill for a moment.

“Yes, well. It can be… _difficult…_ for us to determine which side we should join. Our species’ abilities are obviously very powerful. They have been misused in the past. We have to be absolutely sure—”

“Listen, uh—”

“Snard,” Leia supplies helpfully.

Poe blinks.  “Listen, Snard. It’s pretty obvious which side is on the right, here. Like, super, super obvious.”

“We are leaning your way, or we would not have approached you. But we require further research, up close.”

“And by that you mean—”

“We’d like to send an Avarian shifted as you, Commander Dameron. The best intelligence comes from inside, surely you know that. A shifted Commander Dameron would be able to determine the true heart of your organization.” Snard-Leia looks away. “That should be the final piece of evidence it takes to convince the council.”

They’ve reached a small office, and Snard-Leia steps inside, Poe after xem. The small moment allows Poe to process what xe’s offering. If they could pull it off, they could infiltrate the First Order, confuse everything. Hell, they could have _Kylo Ren_ do it all. It’s a powerful weapon in the fight against evil. He chews his lip.

“I’m not doing anything unless General Organa approves.”

Snard-Leia smiles. “And what form do you think would work best with her?”

/// \\\\\ /// \\\\\

Finn pulls General Organa aside shortly after breakfast—ignoring the wary glances of Resistance members who remember other times the General was interrupted while eating—and blurts out _everything_ , starting with the flying and finishing with the _on-key_ singing in the shower, before he finally trails off, his heart hovering somewhere in his throat. To her credit, the General barely even raises an eyebrow.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

Finn nods sharply once, but is interrupted by the whistle-trill of a happy BB-8 as the little droid speeds through the mess hall and skids to a halt at Poe’s feet, letting out a burbling stream of binary that has half the hall erupting into laughter.

Not-Poe laughs with them, bright and cheerful, but instead of crouching to talk to BB-8 as he’s always done, he just…pats BB-8 on the head and walks away, leaving behind a jovial Black Squadron that’s already gone back to their separate conversations, and one forlorn BB-8, whose confused whistle-beep barely reaches General Organa’s and Finn’s position under all the chatter.

“Yeah,” Finn says, sharing a glance with General Organa. “I’m sure.”

/// \\\\\ /// \\\\\

A year ago, if Finn had been told that he’d be using his sporadic basic stealth training to stalk his friend through a Resistance base, he’d… well he’d likely have done nothing, but that’s only because it would have been so unlikely.

Now…

From across the hangar deck, through X-wing struts and engine housings, Finn catches General Organa’s eyes and nods solemnly before quickening his steps and coming up behind Not-Poe. General Organa follows at a casual distance, watching the scene play out.

“Poe!” Finn calls, pasting a smile on his face. Not-Poe turns to him with a matching smile and slows to a stop just in time for Finn to catch up.

“Hey Buddy!” Not-Poe says, his grin wide and dazzling.

Finn is about to reach out and snag Not-Poe’s wrist when he hears the shrillest whistle he’s ever heard from a droid. Not-Poe stiffens until Finn’s almost certain his spine should snap before falling to the ground in a loose tangle of limbs.

BB-8 lets out a grumpy burble over Not-Poe’s twitching body and retracts his electro-prod as the entire hangar deck turns to stare at Finn and Not-Poe in alarm.

“What the—” Finn crouches on the tarmac by Not-Poe’s body. “Don’t _do_ that, BB! Poe—or, kriff, whoever you are—are you okay?”

BB-8 blats something rude as Not-Poe shivers in place, and with a ripple like falling silver rain, Not-Poe’s features flicker from Poe to Finn to Leia and even to BB-8 before they turn into…well…not Poe.

Finn is sitting back on his heels, blaster aimed at Really-Not-Poe’s forehead, before he even realizes what he’s doing. “What the hell are you, and where is Poe? Commander Dameron. The—being who looks like you did a moment ago. What did you do to him?”

Really-Not-Poe’s throat moves, and xe almost sounds like xe’s… searching through phrases in different languages before xe finally fixes on one Finn can understand. “N–not harmed,” xe rasps. “Dameron safe. Avari—” Xe falls silent, the silver skin on xir throat fluttering from pulse and by breath. “Poe Dameron is safe, Finn FN-2187.”

“That’s not my name,” Finn says, fighting to keep his voice steady. “The second part, I mean. Just the first.” He keeps his eyes trained on the creature, ready for any sudden moves. “And after you pretended to be one of our officers for a day, I’m really not inclined to trust you.”

“In–investigating alliance. Avari—needed to know.” Xe shivers again, harder this time, and Finn begins to wonder just how much voltage BB-8 had used. “The Council needed to know _you,_ Finn-not-FN-2187. A war cannot be fought without knowing your allies or your enemies, and you have been both. And the Resistance—” Xe coughs, hard, and Finn nearly reaches out to steady xem before he hesitates.

“Don’t call me a number,” he says instead, quiet but sure. “Finn. Just Finn. Or Major Finn, if you want to get fancy. And I’ve never—never _willingly_ been an enemy of the Resistance. So. Uh. What did you learn? What are you going to tell your people?”  

Really-Not-Poe falls back into other languages again, strange syllables bubbling up like fresh spring water, and Finn has to restrain his frustration and fascination. Xe is still using Poe’s voice for all this, though xe has an accent Finn doesn’t recognize, and to hear what sounds like Poe speaking all these languages fluently… If this were any other situation, Finn could listen for hours.

“Now would be a great time to start answering,” General Organa says dryly, hands folded across her chest. “In Basic.”

Really-Not-Poe says… something. It’s lilting and sounds almost like the flow of a river, but whatever it is has General Organa rocking back on her heels with the most shocked look Finn’s ever seen on her face. She inhales sharply and the Avari continues in Basic.

“We remember,” xe says. “We remember the songs and the trees, the wind and the stars. We remember Alderaan, and we will not let it happen a third time.”

There’s a long silence. Finn fights the urge to look back at General Organa’s face—who knows what this creature might do if he drops his guard.

“So you’re with us,” General Organa rasps at last.

Really-Not-Poe nods—and Finn really needs to figure out xir real name. “I just need to inform the Council.”

/// \\\\\ /// \\\\\

The medics have checked over Really-Not-Poe by the time the Avari ship arrives—xe’s fine, in spite of how many volts BB-8 pumped into xem—and Finn stands next to the Avari and Leia, waiting for Poe to disembark. He’s vibrating with anticipation, nerves, _concern_. He hasn’t let himself really think about his concern for Poe until now, but it’s a lot more than professional, a bit more than friendly.

The ship lands, a warbird that has all the pilots oohing and aahing, but Finn only shifts on his feet. Figures disembark: one that looks like Leia leads the way, and that causes a stir, but behind xir is Poe, and a few of the pilots cheer, but Really-Not-Poe, whose face has settled into a kind of blank and featureless blur—which is in many ways worse than wearing Poe’s face and not being Poe—shakes xir head. An Avari, then. _Do they literally not have their own shapes they can take?_ Finn wonders in sympathy.  

Another figure follows, and another, several more Really-Not-Poes, causing less and less of a stir each time as the crowd begins to get it.

 _Actual_ Poe is in a gaggle in the middle, where Finn catches a glint of something achingly familiar and warm in the rows of identical eyes. He doesn’t know how he knows it’s his Poe except that he finds himself startled by the way his heart soars at the sight of him. Or maybe it’s the Force telling him. Anyway, he just _knows_ , and he breaks rank to run forward, shouting “Poe!”

He gets an answering “Finn!” and they collide in the middle of the tarmac, ahead of the delegations, who actually hang back to watch. The two Leias are eyeing each other, though, and if Finn looked up, he would see behind Poe the sea of Really-Not-Poes turning into Not-Snaps and Not-Niens and Not-Connixes. But Finn doesn’t look up.

“It’s really you,” he says, unable to let go of Poe’s flight suit. Poe’s smile is right this time, the way his eyes crinkle and he tosses hair out of his face.

“ _Buddy_ ,” Poe gushes, and he grips Finn’s jacket, like he doesn’t believe he’s real, either. “Are you okay? They didn’t mess with you, did they? Finn, I was worried—”

“ _You_ were worried?” Finn laughs. “Poe, I thought an alien had killed you and tried to take your place!”

Poe pulls him into a hug, and, _oh_ , Poe smells right, too, and Finn feels comfortable and safe for the first time in days. _Okay, maybe I do have a tiny crush on him_.

“Finn, I didn’t know what that guy would do or say to you while wearing my face, and listen, I had some time to think this over and I just have something I’ve been meaning to tell you—”

A blare of worried hooting goes off like a klaxon around their knees, and Poe lets go of Finn so fast Finn nearly falls over, but it’s only so Poe can drop to his knees and literally _hug his droid_ , which is so cute Finn doesn’t even mind. They have a quiet conversation that Finn can’t follow, but then Poe is looking up at him and smiling.

By this time, Leia and Not-Leia have met and seem amicable. But Poe is back, the right Poe, and that’s all that matters to Finn.  

“Poe?” Finn asks, when Poe stands again. “You were going to tell me something?”

Poe blushes. “Yeah! Uh, yeah, definitely. Let me tell you over caf, okay, buddy?”

Finn smiles. He knows the real Poe when he sees him, and he’s pretty sure he knows, just as certainly, what the real Poe wants to tell him.

“Absolutely.”

**Author's Note:**

> TuppingLiberty may or may not have a 200k Avarian backstory in her head so if you want to know more about them, ask.


End file.
